


Bragging Rights

by abstractconcept



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Colorado Avalanche, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP without Porn, Praise Kink, Table Sex, hockey rpf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Patrick celebrate Patrick winning the Jack Adams award with wine, dinner, and sex on the table. Pretty PWP, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bragging Rights

“Stop by Friday,” Patrick had said. “I’ll make dinner.”

Matty hadn’t expected much. Maybe something on the grill, since it was getting to be that time of year, and it was easy to find good, healthy, gluten-free stuff to grill. 

He hadn’t expected the candles or the fancy tablecloth. He had expected alcohol, but probably would have guessed New Planet Beer, not wine. Oh, man, was he glad he’d chosen slacks and a sports coat and not jeans and the shit-kickers he had on earlier. 

Patrick must have heard the door open, because he popped his head in from the kitchen. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” Matt replied. He stood amidst the dripping candles and the atmosphere, blushing a little. “Kinda fancy. We celebrating something?” he teased. 

Patrick gave him that grin that made Matt fall in love with him all over again. “Oh, it just a little thing, really.”

“Yeah?” Matt dug his hands into his pockets and sauntered into the kitchen. “What little thing is that?”

Patrick gave him a look of exaggerated innocence. “I forget. That’s how small it is.” 

Matt laughed. “Need help with anything?”

“Just to carry everything out to the table.”

It didn’t take Matt long to realize Patrick only made a little of it himself; the catering boxes were still poking out of the trash. But it was good food, and if Patrick was trying to impress him, still, Matt figured that was a good sign. They sat down and ate and poured themselves some wine. Patrick sat at the head of the table, like always. Matt wondered if the man was aware of the habit. But that’s Patrick for you; there are dozens of little ways he constantly tells the people around him that he’s the alpha male. 

Matt never minded. He took the chair next to Patrick and scooted it as close to him as possible, soaking up the man’s warmth and _bon viveur._  


Patrick described the trip to Vegas and back, poking a bit of fun at Varly and his suit. “All in all, it was okay,” he finished. “Not a total waste of time.”  


Matt grinned. He drained his glass and turned to the man, the warmth of the wine making him feel good. “I hear you won a little something yourself,” he said in a husky voice. “Does that mean that . . . _congratulations_ are in order?”

Patrick’s smile grew devilish. “Oh, no. Not even a little.”

Matt raised his eyebrows, surprised. Patrick got up and leaned over, their noses almost touching. “No, see, you don’t win Jack Adams yourself. That is not how it work. You want a Jack Adams, you got to get people to win it for you.” His smile was slow and his eyes hungry. He winked at Matty. “You win that for me, so I think maybe I should thank you.”

Matt allowed the man to kiss him roughly, tongue slick and hot against his own. He pulled back for a gasp of air. “Well, what can I say? You sure know how to motivate a guy.”

Then Patrick tugged him to his feet, undid his fly. Hands everywhere, clothing dropping in puddles here and there, between kisses. Patrick shoved him backwards and Matt scrabbled up onto the table. 

“Whoops, watch the candle,” Patrick panted as one fell over. A breath of air and it was out, and soon Matt was on his back, spread out on the lace with Patrick eating him like Sunday brunch. 

Matt bucked into Patrick’s mouth, eyes shut. He was aware that he was making desperate noises—begging for it, really—but he couldn’t have stopped. He knew Patrick loved it, anyway. The man tried to sound humble, but he still really loves being told how wonderful he is. 

“Please,” Matt whimpered. “God, Patrick—please.” 

Patrick swirled the tip of his tongue around the head of Matty’s cock, sending him into a kind of frenzy. He couldn’t even manage words anymore—he was just groaning and writhing and gasping. 

Patrick stood back a moment, surveying his handiwork with an air of satisfaction. 

Matt managed a shaky sound, a pleading sort of noise, looking up at Patrick with eyes full of need. 

Patrick smirked. “You make a very pretty picture this way, Dutchy, naked and sweaty on top of my dinner table, your leg all spread out . . .”

Matt managed to laugh, but it sounded a little hysterical. “Oh my God, you are such an asshole.”

Patrick pretended to look offended. “You want to get bench?”

Matt grinned a little. “You wouldn’t bench me.”

“Hmph. No. But I bend you over the bench, fuck you on it, how you like that? Maybe right before a game,” he went on as Matty began to squirm again. “Maybe I let the whole team watch me do you.”

Matt moaned. 

“Oh, you like that, huh? Maybe they like that, too. Damn hell, I would sure like that; take you on your back or your front . . . nah, I think your front. Bend you over it and take your arms behind you, pin your wrist together and—”

“Oh, _fuck,_ Patrick, _please_ ,” Dutchy blurted. He blinked a little, a tear leaking out. His whole body was starting to tremble with the sheer need.  
He must have said the magic word or something because Patrick had pity on him, climbing up on the table and mounting him. 

“Oh, _God,_ ” Matty moaned. 

“You are a good boy,” Patrick purred as he penetrated him. “You going to win me lots of thing in the future, right?” But Matt was beyond talking, barely able to hang onto Patrick’s shoulders as the man fucked him. “Because you are good at that,” Patrick went on, his voice enviably calm. “That is what I like, Dutchy, that you work hard to make me happy. Such a good boy.” 

Matt nodded a little, eating it up. He was starting to feel totally out of control. He pressed the back of his fist to his mouth, trying to get a grip on himself before he came. He wasn’t ready yet. 

“You know what I like best about you?” Patrick asked in that maddeningly conversational way. “I like how versatile you play. I like you are _flexible._ ” So saying, he took each of Dutchy’s ankles in his hands and began to push them back. While Matt didn’t do yoga like O’Reilly, he still worked hard and stretched often, and was in great shape. Patrick looked delighted as he managed to push Matty’s legs until they were about parallel with his ears. 

Matt gave Patrick a look, narrowing his eyes to say, _Oh, is that what you want?_ He reached up and grabbed his own leg; he could get it behind his head. 

Patrick paused a moment, looking at him with wide eyes. He barked a laugh. “Yes. This is what I like best, mon trésor, mon athlète.” He leaned forward until their noses touched. “You are so very good at following direction,” Patrick said. He grinned. “And always, you find a way to reach the next level.” He kissed Matty and began to move again, thrusting into his welcoming body. 

Matt whimpered. He slipped a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, kissing him again and again. “Gonna win you everything,” he panted between kisses. “Make you feel good.” Matt liked the way Patrick moaned at this. He licked the man’s ear. “Like you make me feel good,” he huffed against his skin. Patrick was really close now, Matt could tell, and something inside Matt sang at the idea of pushing him over the edge. 

“Dutchy,” Patrick murmured. “Vous m'excitez.” He pulled away to nuzzle Matt’s nose and look into his eyes. “ _Such_ a good boy.”

Matt carded his fingers through Patrick’s hair, one leg bent far back, the other held wide by Patrick. “You like it?” he purred. “Am I good for you?” He wanted to hear it—needed to hear it.

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick agreed. “You are the best thing I ever feel,” he assured Matt. “You are amazing.”

“Good.” Matt kissed him, hard, and sucked on the man’s tongue. Patrick made a tortured noise, like the pleasure was too much. He could feel the man stiffen and twitch as orgasm washed over him. 

A few moments later Patrick pulled back, panting hard. “You do not play fair,” he said. 

Matt grinned. “Maybe not, but I always win.”

Patrick straightened, looking down at him with narrow eyes. “Oh, but this is just the intermission. Second period I will dominate.”

Matt snorted, but then Patrick grasped his legs behind the knees and tugged him to the edge of the table. “Er, what—”

“I am still hungry,” the man told him. He bent and licked Matt’s cock, slid the tip of his tongue into the slit. “You like that, Dutchy?”

Matty made a noise that he was pretty sure a grown man wasn’t supposed to make. 

“I take that as a yes.” Patrick began to suck him, still holding his knees, his legs in the air. He felt exposed and debauched and fucking fantastic. Patrick sucked him and sucked him, all the while making soft noises of pleasure, like Matty was just delicious. God, Patrick had a way of making him feel good about himself without even opening his mouth—well, so to speak, anyway. 

In moments, he’d reduced Dutchy to a moaning, thrashing frenzy, his hands fisting the tablecloth, ripping the delicate lace. “Please, Patrick, please,” he moaned, both hands coming up to hold the man’s head in place. 

Then Patrick swallowed him whole and he nearly came off the table. Patrick seemed awfully self-satisfied as Matt came, dribbling come all over Patrick’s chin as well as the tablecloth and Matt’s own thigh. 

The man straightened, taking a napkin and wiping his face like he’d just finished a fine meal. “First period was good but I think I manage a comeback in the end.”

It took Matt a minute or two to respond. He was gasping for air, his hair sweaty and plastered to his skin, faced flushed with afterglow. His knees felt weak, though that might have been due to the gymnastics earlier. Finally he mastered himself and sat up. 

Patrick had settled into a chair and had poured himself another glass of wine. The table was a total mess; silverware had fallen on the floor, the tablecloth was torn and bunched up around Matt’s thighs, and his glass of wine had spilled all over. He grinned in satisfaction. If nothing else, Patrick sure wouldn’t forget a meal like that. 

“You ready for a nap?” Patrick asked him with a dimpled grin. “I wear you out pretty good.”

“Are you joking? I,” Matt said, giving him the most smoldering look he could muster, “am a world-class athlete. I could do this all night.”

Patrick laughed, but the look in his eyes said he might just be up for another round. “Is this right, my Dutchy?”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Matt suggested with a flirty look. He scooted off the table and slinked, naked, toward the stairs. “I think it’s time for a shower—and the third period.” He glanced over his shoulder and shivered at the thought of Patrick and him together in the hot steam, soaping each other up. 

“How you think you going to beat me at this game?” Patrick asked.

“I’m gonna polish your trophy.” Matt winked.

“Yes?” Patrick said, following him.

Dutchy grinned. “ _With my tongue_ ,” he growled. 

Patrick’s eyes lit up. “This I like,” he said, passing Matt and heading up the stairs.

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe I even let you win,” he added, eyes laughing. “But maybe not. I am pretty competitive, you know?” He paused, turning to take Dutchy’s chin and tilt it up for a kiss. 

Matt chuckled softly. “Could be a tight game.”

“Eh, maybe we go to seven game series,” Patrick said leading him upstairs. 

Matt liked the sound of that. “Sounds good to me,” he said. 

Trophies were all well and good, but bragging rights were better.


End file.
